


A Letter of Resignition

by rageandserenityis_ecstasy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, Platonic Romance, use to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:18:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageandserenityis_ecstasy/pseuds/rageandserenityis_ecstasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has had enough, so he summarizes his distaste in a letter, and then leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Letter of Resignition

221B Baker Street  
Central London  
LO67 CND  
England  
Dear Sherlock,

Recently I have started to feel as though our partnership is becoming one sided. Maybe I’m wrong, I think it always has been. You are a selfish, arrogant, stuck up idiot who is, undeniably, clever, but abuses their power. You have difficulty dealing with people, I understand that and I don’t mind helping you out with everyday issues you may have to endure but over the last few months I have begun to feel as though you are using me for this purpose and this purpose alone. 

Like the soldier I am, I have stood by you through the last three years. When you left. Faked your own death. Do you understand what effect that has had on me, Sherlock? I was devastated! Admittedly, you did at least attempt to stay ‘loyal’ during the first stages of my Mary’s ‘recent departure’ as you so delicately put it. Though I don’t see how you manage not to care enough to not attend her funeral! She was my wife. My partner. And she seemingly proved to be a better one than you. 

You gave me so much. And I am eternally grateful. You fixed me. Brought me back to life after my grueling time in war. It would be impossible to thank you enough but one more small thing. Would have made even more of a difference. I’m sure you’d think me greedy for asking for information on what happened after your ‘death’, but you wouldn’t tell me anyway. Confidential. Private. Yet you still told your brother. And Molly Hooper. And twenty-five middle aged tramps who you barely know. Let alone trust! What difference would one more man have made. I’m your best friend! 

Now it’s my turn to complain. To whinge. To whine, as you no doubt would describe it...

So here goes...

Your death. You let me mourn. Mourn... You made me suffer slowly and painfully for three years. I went to your grave. I was crushed. I loved you. Although not in the sense that the majority of the public thought, but we were partners. Closer than brothers but now, now I don’t know what to think. Like a massive explosion of sudden shock and colour you burst back into my life. Because that’s what you are. A firework. A bundle of explosives ready to blow at any point, ready for action but the minute you get bored…That’s it. Boredom is like the aerosol to your spark Boom. You expected me to take you back and just accept that you were still alive. All I would have needed was one word. One word to know you were safe and well, Sherlock! 

Not only did you leave me in the wake of your loss, but poor Mrs Hudson was devastated. Absolutely heartbroken. And Greg too. Looking back, so was Molly. Having to keep that secret for two whole years! Not everyone is like you, Sherlock. Not everyone is ‘super-human’ and able to hide and reveal what they pick and chose. I’m not surprised she confided in the ‘Napoleon of Crime’ due to having so many of your troubles pushed on to her. It wasn’t her pleasure Sherlock., it was a burden, no matter how polite she was at the time. 

Can you remember the time we were in your brother’s jet, on our way to Ireland? Of course you do, you have everything up there in your big, fancy “mind palace”- No matter what you say you delete. Well we were sat together. I was reading. You were on your laptop and said it was for the case, although I knew something was wrong. When we left the plane, the small man who came running up to you and handed you a suitcase - he was bringing you drugs, wasn’t he Sherlock? You can’t fool me. The signs were obvious... Addict. I am a doctor, remember? Alone, this would be fine. I could live with it but that’s not how addiction works. It’s happened again. Just after my wedding. When I went to find Isaac Whitney. And I was so pleasantly surprised to find my best friend, my best man, no less, in a drugs den. How do you think that made me feel, Sherlock? Just put yourself in my shoes for two minutes. Take some time out of your busy schedule. Feel a bit of empathy. For your own good if not mine! You could have talked to me. I’m supposed to be your best friend. How would Mummy feel to know her diligent little prince has resumed his drug addiction after we all worked so hard to get you clean for the benefit of the public eye. Talk to me. Please. 

You say you only have one friend. And that friend is me. So don’t lose me. I don’t want to be pushed away. I want to help but you have to start wanting to help yourself first. 

 

I miss you Sherlock. So much. You are my best friend and the best man I have ever known You have given me what I need. My addiction - action. I just think we need sometime apart. You may argue that due to my marriage, we haven’t been spending as much time together as we had been previously but I mean real time. A year. Maybe two. I have been offered a job in California, Sherlock. As a doctor for ex army veterans. I have accepted and I’m set to leave next Friday as I have realised that I need some stability in my life after losing my Mary and it seems you cannot give me that even though I try so hard, and usually succeed, to be the water to your bonfire. The one who can bring you back down to earth. If you wish to see me before I depart then I suggest you get in contact. I enclose my new mobile number since you lost my last phone during the Mayfly Man case. (Thanks again for that). Though I don’t want to see you if you have taken drugs and are under the influence. Get yourself clean Sherlock, or there’ll be an east wind coming. 

 

Your friend, John H. Watson.


End file.
